


Every Possibility

by darcymariaphoster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Adoption, Asexuality, Bisexuality, Bullying, Cuddling, Family, Fluff, Holidays, Kid Fluff - Freeform, Kidlock, M/M, Parentlock, Raising kids, Unilock, WIP, dysfunctional family dynamics (John's side), fears of becoming a parent, learning about being parents, mentions of past neglect, pansexuality, psychological damage, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcymariaphoster/pseuds/darcymariaphoster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft was determined to make Sherlock’s life the best he possibly could. He wasn’t going to let his little brother go hungry or feel that he didn’t matter and he was going to keep him safe -- regardless of circumstances.</p><p>And for almost five years, he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my submission to fyeahteenlock@tumblr's Rare Pair Contest. I had a different idea but, unfortunately, my tablet broke and I never saved the story where I could get to it elsewhere. So I decided to attempt to wrap up the beginning of this story and submit it. :D I had to shove in Sherlock and Mycroft at the end to get it to count, though. 
> 
> It is a WIP, though I have several pieces started in it. I hope the beginning intrigues you enough that you'll want to return to see the rest. :) 
> 
> Please leave notes and thoughts if you feel so inclined and I thank you for being considerate and not nasty when doing so! <3
> 
> Happy reading!

The idea was first brought up by John over dinner in late July. It was a rare night that they could both be home for dinner at the same time and they always made the best of it. They sat at the table and felt like they were a proper family, not just two men in a relationship that didn't always have time for each other. That night, they'd opened every window in the flat, letting the city noise fade into the background of their conversation about Greg's work.

 

Gregory Lestrade was approaching his twenty-ninth birthday and proudly wore a detective badge. On duty, he was always professional and done-up. Off duty, he enjoyed tighter-fitting jeans and a loosed tie around the collar of an untucked button-up. Being a detective was rather new to him still, even though he'd been promoted a few years ago. One of his and John's serious conversations before he'd taken the position was the dangers of the job and the strain on their already precarious relationship.

 

It wasn't as though they didn't love each other and they didn't fight very often. But between Greg's hectic schedule and John's late hours at the clinic, they were afraid that no time together would slowly disintegrate their relationship. John Watson was, at the time, a secretary for a local clinic. At twenty-six, he felt lucky for the position and the fact that he got more flexibility with his style than Greg. While skinny jeans and slouch beanies were not good for on the job, he would often trade them out for dark-wash jeans and subtly symbolic t-shirts. After spending his secondary school days in military school, he'd learned how to hold his tongue and reveal exactly what he thought of things in silent ways. Work, though, was a topic of conversation between them often. While Greg was happy with his career, John often felt as though he were just a pay cheque for them. And, maybe, this was part of the reason he blurted what he did during a lull in their chatting.

 

"I want kids."

 

Greg paused and looked up at him, mouth open for a bite and eyes huge from the words. They'd been together for six years and they'd only ever briefly discussed children, letting the idea of "eventually" be the end of it. He hadn't thought "eventually" would be so soon. He cleared his throat and set his fork down, nerves making him unsure of his stomach. "Kids? Like baby goats?" he tried, smiling in what he wanted to be teasing but knew it probably looked terrified.

 

"Greg," John scolded lightly, rolling his eyes. "No, like children. _Human_ children. The cats are great but not quite the same..." As if sensing they were being referred to, their orange tabby, named Tiger, bounced into the kitchen and began howling while his sister, Grace, meandered lazily toward Greg's chair to bat at his leg. "Shoo," John admonished, waving at Tiger until the feline grumpily went to check his food dish.

 

"Are you sure? This isn't some passing fancy?" Greg inquired cautiously, absently scratching the white cat's head. "I mean, why now?" Which was a very valid question, in his opinion. There didn't appear to be any rhyme or reason to the desire.

 

John shrugged, poking at his eggplant. "I don't know. I just feel like it's time... We're already considering moving, making a change in our life together. Why not make it bigger? Go all in, head first." He peeked up at the dark haired man on the other side of the table, his dumbfounded partner. "Besides, we're not getting any younger and I told you from the start that I'd eventually want to start a family..."

 

Greg bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "I don't think I'm ready yet, John..." He tried not to feel guilty at the disappointed expression on the blond's face. "I want a family, too, but... I dunno. I'm not sure we could handle it right now. We're barely here for each other right now and you want to throw a child into that?"

 

John sighed and nodded, sour understanding on his mind. "You're right. Now isn't the greatest time..." But, he wondered, if that was the main thing holding them back, would the time ever arise?

 

"Let's see how we feel in a few months," Greg suggested, hating his hesitance if it meant John had to be that depressed. "Maybe, as we keep talking about moving and where, I'll change my mind. A lot can happen in just a few weeks, love. Maybe I'll get straighter hours." The last part was meant as a joke and successfully got John to snort in amusement. He nodded again and, when he peered back up at Greg, he seemed just a bit more hopeful.

 

%

 

Greg was lying in bed a week and a half later, John still in the bathroom getting ready. His thoughts were lazily drifting about when they landed on John's statement about kids. The words had floated around in his head since they'd been said and he now decided to examine them, wonder on them. He wasn't sure _exactly_ what was holding him back, just that he didn't feel ready. Which didn't make much sense to him as the two had found themselves almost always on the same page before even talking about it. This was one of the _rare_ times that they were on different chapters.

 

He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed as John wandered out and climbed onto the bed. Smiling contentedly, the blond half sprawled himself over Greg's chest, kissing the base of his throat. "What has you frowning so seriously?" he inquired lightly, pulling the sheet over them.

 

Greg gave him a small smile as John resumed his earlier position, doodling patterns on his chest. "How many kids would you want?" He draped one arm over his shoulder and rubbed his back gently.

 

John hummed thoughtfully and didn't answer right away. For a moment, Greg thought he'd fallen asleep. Finally, he murmured, "I dunno. I suppose three at most. That seems like a good number. But one to start."

 

"Three?" he choked, slight horror oozing into his voice. "One is plenty. I grew up with four other brothers; I don't wish that on my family and I don't want to raise that many. Two would be my limit."

 

John laughed, resting his palm against his chest. "You big baby. Where's your sense of adventure?"

 

"It's still there -- after all, I'm with you," Greg reminded him affectionately and kissed the top of his head. "What's wrong with twins?"

 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," John protested immediately, propping himself up with an elbow on the mattress and shaking his head. "I never said _twins._ They have to be a few years apart. That's logical. Twins are out of the question. Can you imagine _two_ two year olds at the same time? _Two_ times the tantrums, _two_ times the messes, _two_ times the 'I can do it'. No. No, no, no, no. You want one younger and one older so the older one can help take care of the younger one. _Greg_."

 

Said man could not contain his laughter anymore. He sat up, toppling John who squawked at being so rudely ignored, and gripped his sides. "That was great, love." John huffed and crossed his arms, waiting expectantly for the explanation. "That was ridiculous."

 

"It wasn't. I'm serious," John growled, rolling his eyes. "We were having a serious conversation. I thought."

 

"We are," Greg answered, slowly calming down again. "Two kids, max, no twins. Anything else?"

 

John laid back, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "Why don't you want kids right now? Is it really a 'never'?"

 

"It's not a 'never'," Greg muttered, curling up next to him. "It just feels so... I dunno, big. What if we screw it all up? What if we think we're ready and we're really not? What if the kids hate us -- we'd adopt, right?"

 

“I think we should adopt, yeah,” John replied quietly, drawing circles and lines over his partner’s chest in thought. “And, I think, really… If we consider those things too deeply, we’re going to scare ourselves and never do it. I’m scared of those things, too, Greg. But I decided quickly that I didn’t want to get stuck on those fears because I’d never go through with the idea…” Greg let out a soft, strangled sound in the back of his throat and John pushed himself up to look at his face. “Don’t worry about it right now. There’s only one condition.” He raised an eyebrow in question and John smiled, leaning up to be closer. “When we talk about this again, I want to know the _real_ reason you’re hesitant. Okay?”

 

Greg screwed up his face, about to protest when he was cut off by lips pressed to his own. When John pulled away, eyes bright, he muttered, “Yeah, fine. I promise.” He rubbed his back as John settled back down for sleep. “Love you.”

 

“Love you, too,” he huffed softly. “But, really, no twins.” Greg chuckled at that, slowly relaxing again.

 

%

 

It was four months later when they were invited to the Lestrade’s family reunion. Or, as Greg put it, “An excuse for Jordan to introduce us all to his new girlfriend.” John rolled his eyes and encouraged him to go. It took a bit of work, and a lot of promises of baking for the next week, but he finally agreed with a, “Only if you go.” Which was a given anyway.

 

Once Greg’s parents had found the home of their dreams, they hadn’t moved. Even after four out of their five boys had moved out and were living their own lives. As a result, their house was rather large for just them and their youngest son but it was perfectly accommodating to everyone when they came to visit for the weekend.

 

John had met Greg’s immediate family once after he’d moved in with his boyfriend. It had originally just been to meet his parents but they couldn’t keep their mouths shut and every one of his brothers had to come “approve” him as well. It had been a ridiculously long weekend and the house had seemed so noisy with five young kids running around and everyone talking over each other. While John had been fidgety and a bit uncomfortable with all the noise -- he’d grown up with only one other sibling and his parents were strict about _everything_ \-- Greg had seemed perfectly at home again, being as loud and rambunctious as the rest of them.

 

This was different. This was even more people. Granted, not all of them were staying the entire weekend and would be filtering in and out. Still, as soon as they stepped in, all there seemed to be was noise and people. Women were in the kitchen chatting, chasing after kids. Men were huddled in groups with their drinks while they talked and laughed loudly, and others were amongst the kids being chased. The TV in the sitting room was on and a radio was blasting downstairs. John immediately felt out of place and overwhelmed, cursing himself for being dragged along.

 

“Greg, John!” Mrs. Lestrade -- Marilee -- cried enthusiastically, and John tried very hard not to cringe. But Greg simply seemed to read him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding him close as he grinned at his mother. “I’m glad you could make it. Are you staying the whole weekend?”

 

Greg shrugged his shoulders and replied, “We have to leave on Sunday. Work is a demanding thing, unfortunately.” He was already relaxed and content, back in territory where fighting for the last roll was as fun as watching movies together on a Friday night.

 

“Well, then come in,” Marilee ushered cheerfully. “And get yourselves settled. You can stay in your old room. But no hiding in there or I’ll make you share it with one of your cousins.” Greg groaned good-naturedly and steers John down the hall to their temporary room.

 

As soon as the door was shut, the noise became muffled and John sighed. “Two and a half days of noise. I shouldn’t have agreed to come.”

 

“And you want kids,” Greg teased, setting the bag he’d been carrying on the ground by the door. “Three, no less. You’d go bonkers.”

 

“I wouldn’t,” John protested, crossing his arms defensively. “We’re quiet people and we’d raise them to be quiet. Not stifling like my family but not so rowdy as yours. Plus, not all kids are riotous. Maybe we’d be lucky.”

 

Greg shook his head with a huffed laugh. “You’ve got bizarre expectations, John… Come on, let’s go mingle.” John gave him an annoyed glare but followed him out of the room anyway. He made sure to stay as close to his boyfriend as possible until one of the brothers -- he was fairly sure it was the second oldest, David -- dragged him away to play a mild version of rugby with some of the kids until dinner. And dinner was possibly noisier than the rest of the day. With everyone sitting in one space all at once, it was ridiculous.

 

But, as the weekend progressed, John felt himself become more comfortable. He still didn’t like all the ruckus and sometimes felt that the noise was overwhelming, but he was enjoying the company and the general family feel in the house. And he also began to notice the one thing that seemed omnipresent throughout the entire ordeal: the father figures. Whether is was the Lestrade boys verbally fighting for their own father’s attention or Brain, the oldest, or Nathaniel, the middle, helping their kids or listening to their stories, the figure seemed the most important in the house. Which was normal, at least to John. But in a different way than he’d been raised. In the Watson house, his dad was at the head but everyone knew the one pulling all the ropes was his mother. It was a show in his home. Here, it didn’t seem to be that way. Both parents seemed important and listened to, but the dad _figure_ seemed to overpower.

 

He figured it was because the house had been full of boys so naturally they’d all gravitate to the father. Just to be sure, though, John decided to ask Greg Saturday night as they curled up in the full-sized bed together. He thoughtfully traced patterns onto Greg’s chest as he mumbled, “Why is your dad so important to you?”

 

He was met with several minutes of silence before the answer was, “I dunno. He’s my dad. Isn’t your dad important to you?”

 

In all honesty, John hadn’t gotten along with either of his parents for several years now and he’d be fine if he never heard from them again. He’d never found a role model in either of his parents and nothing like Greg had for his dad, where it was so obvious that he wanted to make him proud. “Not particularly,” John grunted, pinching his lips together in frustration. “Never mind…”

 

Greg shifted them, pushing John into the mattress with his body and looking at him intently. “Something bothering you?” he asked, sounding concerned and caring.

 

John sighed and shook his head. “No. I was just trying to figure out why everyone in your family seems to gravitate and create that father figure, make him so important. Maybe it’s just normal and I’ve never seen it like that.”

 

“I guess it’s normal,” Greg muttered, his brow furrowing. “At least to us. I’m not sure why, exactly, but I’ve always looked up to my dad and he’s always seemed so awesome to me.” He paused and then laughed softly. “He was a construction worker until he met my mum and then he thought he’d better do something more ‘acceptable’ and got a nine to five office job. He’s jumped ranks and is still with the same company, probably being paid about as much as I make. Isn’t that weird? And I look to up him?”

 

“Not weird,” John answered, smiling widely up at him. “It’s not his job that made him someone you wanted to look up to, obviously. It’s his person. It’s probably why I never looked up to either of my parents. Cookie-cutter and bland in both work and person. Both your parents are so…” He struggled a moment, trying to find the word he felt best described Greg’s parents based on the time he’d spent with them. “Bubbly. I mean, like, there’s so much to them and all about them…”

 

“Bubbly,” Greg laughed, leaning down to kiss John’s nose. “I don’t know if I’d ever use that word to describe them but okay.” He pressed their lips together gently, still smiling. When he pulled away, he whispered, “My dad is amazing. His drive to make sure his family is taken care of, always the tough guy but never so tough that he was scary or I felt I couldn’t talk to him. There’s so much I appreciate about him and… And what if I’m not like that?” Their eyes met and furrowed his brow. “What if I’m the scary, mean dad and I get angry and impatient too often? What if our kids never feel like they can talk to me like a friend, like I could talk to my dad when I was younger? I don’t want to be this big, intimidating figure in their lives that they feel like they can’t approach or feel close to…”

 

John reached up and cupped his face with both his hands, swiping his thumbs across his cheekbones comfortingly. “I wonder if your dad was afraid of those things, too? Maybe you should ask him.” He smiled softly. “He’s not a superhero, Greg, no matter how you see him. He’s only human and I’ll bet he had some fears of his own.” He pulled him down and let him bury his face in the junction of his neck and shoulder, running his fingers through his hair.

 

Greg turned his face and kissed John’s neck affectionately. “I know…” They stayed like that for quite awhile, until Greg’s neck began to get stiff and he slumped to the side, wrapping John up in his arms. “I love you,” he hummed into the blond’s hair.

 

%

 

It took months after that for Greg to finally admit that, despite his fears, he did want to start a family and he was getting anxious to. It was late in April when they sat down again to talk about it. The night was chilly and they’d wrapped themselves up in a quilt off their bed and cuddled up on the couch to watch “Nightmare before Christmas” with some hot cocoa when Greg decided to bring it up. “I think we should get started on the adoption process,” he threw out casually, eyes on the television. “I’ve been looking into it and it’s going to take quite awhile. We’d have a lot to consider.”

 

John craned his neck to look up at him. “Are you serious?” Greg glanced down at him, confusion written on his face. “I mean, I agree, I just… The last time we talked about a family, you weren’t ready and you were scared and now it’s just ‘full steam ahead’?”

 

Greg huffed, scowling a little. “I’ve been having some chats with my dad since the last time we talked about it and, well, I realised that I’m going to have those fears no matter what but if I use them to hold me back… Then we’re just going to be twiddling our thumbs forever. They’re not going to go away by worrying over them. So… Why not? Let’s figure this thing out and we’ll screw up together.”

 

John laughed at that and shook his head. “You’re something else,” he informed him lightly. “Okay. Tomorrow, let’s look into it a bit together and get in touch with someone who can get us started. Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Greg mumbled and nuzzled his hair. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

%

 

There were six more months that went by before they got their meeting with the kids they were matched with. It was full of records being pulled, tests being done, doctors visits, paperwork that never seemed to end, and house hunting on the side. The house hunting was actually a big debate between Greg and John, with a few tense nights that they went to bed attempting to not be angry with each other. John was insistent that the flat they were currently in wouldn’t be good for even one child but Greg said that they could always move on if they felt it wasn’t a good fit after so many years. Eventually, Greg caved and they began the search while everything else was getting sorted.

 

It was mid-October when they got to meet the boys for the first time. Their first thought was surprise and a bit of irritation when their agent told them that they’d been matched with _two_ kids instead of the _one_ they’d said they wanted to start off with.

 

“There’s a reason we felt you would be good with these two,” their agent explained a bit nervously, setting two files on the desk between them. “We think you’d do best with Sherlock but his brother won’t go anywhere without him. We could split them up but… Maybe you should meet them, first.”

 

Greg and John had exchanged a glance and decided they’d come too far to back out now. It was only a meeting, after all. They were led down a hallway to a rather boring looking room, reminding them of a waiting room in a doctor’s office. Two young boys were sitting at the far end, a book between them. The older had dark red hair and a very calm expression on his face as he showed his younger brother how to read the words on the page. The younger boy had dark and riotous curls with an eager spark in his eyes they could see from there. Their agent closed the door behind them, making John’s stomach churn with nerves. “Er, hello…” he tried and both boys snapped their heads up to study them.

 

“Are you the people interested in adopting us?” Mycroft, the older, drawled in a bored tone, closing the book and setting it aside. Greg nodded and crossed the room, dragging John with him. He pulled up two chairs and sat in one of them. John silently followed suit.

 

“My name is Greg and this is John,” he introduced and smiled gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

Sherlock pulled his knees up and wrapped his hands around his ankles. “My name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes and I like Sherlock best so that’s what you can call me. I’m five years old and I like bees and pirates. And reading, but I’m not good at it yet.” He wasn’t smiling, making it seem more like something he rehearsed for others before them.

 

“I’m Eric Mycroft Markus Holmes, but Mycroft is what I go by. Eric is such a boring name,” Mycroft said lazily, rolling his eyes slightly. “And I’m uninterested in being adopted. You can’t impress me.”

 

Greg pushed a hand through his hair, obviously stressed and nervous and uncertain. John took a deep breath and smiled brightly. “Those are really interesting names, actually. I like them a lot. And, Mycroft, we’re not here to impress you. We’re here to meet you. If you don’t like us by the time we leave, then I’m sorry. But give us just a little chance, okay?” Mycroft crossed his arms but his calculating look was replaced by something akin to curiosity. “How old are you?”

 

“I’m nine,” Mycroft answered immediately, managing to sound bored. “How old are you?”

 

John laughed at that and even Greg gave a grin. “I’m twenty-six, if you really want to know. But Greg’s not going to tell you his age because he’s still angry about getting so old.”

 

Sherlock giggled, staring up at them. “You don’t look old…” He leaned forward a little. “I can’t even see any wrinkles!”

  
“I’m not that old yet,” Greg all but whined, wrinkling his nose. “I’m almost thirty, okay?” John rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. He glanced at Greg and smiled widely, conveying what he knew they both already felt. Their nerves had completely calmed and they realised they weren’t here to talk about likes and dislikes in the way they would if they were meeting a new person. Instead, they directed the conversation as if they were learning more about their kids to get a better understanding of who they were, some sort of basis that all parents had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed and not Brit-picked (the second is the one I'm most concerned about. I don't have anyone to help me with it and I really rely on my own research so I apologise for mistakes).

It was a cold day in February when it actually happened. The thing that Mycroft had been working so hard to avoid. He’d spent the past five years fighting to keep his brother and himself safe and fed and generally well. And one unexpected weekend had destroyed it.

 

In a way, he knew he should have been happy, excited even. No longer would he have to be the adult, the one who had to think of _everything,_ and focus almost solely on his younger brother. But he was too used to it. He was used to feeling needed, feeling important. He wasn’t sure he could adjust to anything else.

 

His memories were fuzzy, still, but he did remember how his parents had doted on him and loved him above all else when he was younger. When he was around three or four, their affection had dwindled as work had taken over their lives. He quickly realised that he had to learn to fend for himself if he wanted to be any sort of okay. It was around then that he wasn’t allowed to go to school anymore, either.

 

The thing that baffled him most was when Sherlock was born. He didn’t understand why they would have another child when they had stopped loving their first.

 

It didn’t last long, though, and Mycroft was determined to make Sherlock’s life the best he possibly could. He wasn’t going to let his little brother go hungry or feel that he didn’t matter and he was going to keep him safe -- regardless of circumstances.

 

And for almost five years, he did.

 

He took money from his parents’ wallets for groceries, learned how to pay bills online so that they wouldn’t lose the electric when their parents went to parties and forgot about it, taught himself how to cook food so he and Sherlock always had vegetables. He forced himself to learn a lot of things to ensure that his brother had the best care he could give him. Of course he was tired. But he used that as a motivation of sorts to keep pushing on, to keep seeing his brother wake up every day.

 

One day, a new couple moved into the house next door to them. They were young and had a son of their own. Obviously, they were feeling that overprotectiveness toward _every_ child they ran into, including Sherlock and Mycroft. They seemed to notice everything, no matter how hard Mycroft tried to hide it. Until, finally, they called The People.

 

The People were professionals, or so they said. They came to the Holmes’ door and asked to talk to the boys separately. They asked a lot of questions. And it didn’t take very long before they moved the boys from their home and into a child center. It was far from ideal for both Sherlock and Mycroft, who were used to being left alone and to their own devices. But here were people who _insisted_ that they let others take care of them.

 

The following few months were Hell, Mycroft was certain.

 

His patience was wearing thin. He wanted to be the one who took care of his brother, not all these strangers. No one was listening, though, and he felt like a ball of anxious energy, waiting to burst.

 

Sherlock and Mycroft were introduced to exactly five interested couples who all left looking scandalized. And then they met John and Greg. They seemed nice enough people, even managing to get Sherlock to drop his guard long enough to make him laugh. Mycroft, however, was not convinced -- intrigued but not convinced.

 

During their second meeting, when Sherlock hurried off to the bathroom, Mycroft glared at both of them. “We don’t _need_ you,” he informed them with barely contained anger. They both stared at him, obviously startled. “I’ve been doing _just fine_ taking care of the both of us without anyone else. If you’re planning on caring for us like we’re _babies_ \-- like they do here -- then we don’t need you. If it weren’t for meddling people, I’d still be taking care of Sherlock and we’d still be fine!”

 

Though both seemed shocked, it was John who recovered first, a pained expression on his face. His voice was thick, like he might start crying if he wasn’t careful. “We don’t want to take that from you, Mycroft…” he explained softly, twisting his fingers anxiously in his lap. “I understand that you’ve been caring for both you and your brother for a long while now. We don’t want you to stop.”

 

Mycroft felt his eyebrows shoot up, caught off guard as he studied him. He glanced at Greg, too, just to be sure. But they weren’t kidding. “You don’t?” he clarified, thinking that there must be some sort of catch.

 

“No,” John answered sternly. He’d regained himself a bit more but his hands were still fidgeting, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “We want to help you, though. There will be times where either Greg or I, or both of us, will be at work late and we’ll need you to help Sherlock with his homework. You might need to make a dinner or two now and again, even. We want to give you the things you’ll need for those instances -- a fridge and cupboards full of food and money in case you just want to order out. You won’t have to _worry_ about taking care of him, if needed. We want to give you breaks, when you just want time for yourself. We want to give you opportunities to care for yourself better, too. So you can go to school and think about yourself.”

 

Mycroft was silent, considering this. His chest tightened and he felt tears sting his eyes as he eyed both men in front of him, his potential caretakers. And then everything in him caved and he let himself cry and nod and didn’t protest when John pulled him close. Because it felt safe, warm, comforting. It felt like everything he’d forgotten he could have, everything he’d stopped believing he deserved. He wanted it all back. He wanted the security of not having to think of every detail, not having to worry about money or food. He could let others do all that for him. He wanted it. He wanted it more than he’d ever let himself think he did.

 

Sherlock walked back in and paused, alarmed. “Myc?” He hurried to Mycroft, squeezing between Greg and John to get to him, and carefully looked over his older brother, who was struggling to regain his composure. He’d never seen his brother _cry_ before. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” Mycroft answered honestly. He wiped at his eyes, offering a timid smile up at Greg and John. “When do we go home?” Feeling rather puzzled, Sherlock had begun to ask as many questions as he could think of -- which was a lot for that little five year old brain of his -- to try and ascertain what was going on.

 

The following weeks were irritatingly slow for the Holmes’ boys, though Greg and John seemed harassed every time they saw each other. They kept Sherlock and Mycroft up on what was going on, telling them laughingly about all the paperwork they'd had to go through and doctor’s appointments that seemed so pointless. On Halloween, Greg and John showed up with small bags of candy and face paints. They painted Sherlock’s face as a zombie and Mycroft’s face as a clown; Sherlock painted bees all over John’s face and Mycroft doodled musical notes on Greg’s. They spent a considerable amount of time after that just laughing.

 

When the time came for the adoption to be finalised, Sherlock and Mycroft were feeling anxious to get out of the center and move in with their new parents. Each had their own reserves about the whole thing, and it kept them quiet on the drive home as they let their thoughts drift and wander. It wasn’t until they had pulled into the driveway that Sherlock finally gave voice to his fears. Mycroft and Greg were in the trunk, pulling out their suitcases and a few small boxes of things that the boys had specifically asked for. John opened the door and smiled at Sherlock, helping him unbuckle.

 

Timidly, Sherlock muttered up at the blond, “I’m scared…”

 

John blinked at him in bewilderment. “Scared?” he asked, hands hovering in the air beside the boy where he’d originally been intending to pick him up. “Scared of what?”

 

“What if I’m not what you think I’m supposed to be?” Sherlock suggested, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He was nervous of his new mother’s -- he had already decided that John was definitely the mother here -- reaction. He really felt like a ball of unease, just waiting to break down and fall apart.

 

A short bark of laughter left John’s mouth as he scooped an indignant Sherlock into his arms. “Sorry,” he said reassuringly, adjusting so Sherlock could rest on his hip and he was supporting him by one arm. He rubbed his shoulders soothingly with his other hand. “If you’re afraid of disappointing us somehow, it can’t happen. We’re not expecting you to be anything other than what you are.”

 

Sherlock considered his words carefully, ignoring the fact that Greg and Mycroft had wandered over to see what the fuss was about. “What if...what if I’m actually a pirate dog named Redbeard, though?”

 

There was a short pause in which Mycroft groaned dramatically, because he’d heard this too often, and Greg and John shared a Look. “We still can’t be disappointed,” Greg informed him gently, resting one hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “That just makes you interesting.”

 

“But that doesn’t make me a normal kid,” Sherlock protested impatiently. “All the kids I ever saw on TV were happy and…” He paused to search for the words he wanted. “If they make-believed animals, they call it a game. I’m not a game.”

 

It took a moment for his parents to work out what exactly he meant and then they both smiled softly. In most cases, Sherlock was annoyed by this particular smile. In this moment, when coming from both his parents, he found it a bit comforting. “You have every right to feel exactly as you do, Sherlock,” John told him sternly, laced with something genuinely tender. “You’re still a child, that doesn’t change just because you feel like a pirate dog. And you’ll learn that TV is not always that accurate sometimes.” And then he did something _unexpected_. It had been something that Sherlock had honestly been waiting for for weeks but it hadn’t happened until that moment. John kissed his forehead. He let out a soft squeak of surprise that had both his parents laughing quietly; he even heard Mycroft give an uncertain chuckle. “We’ll love you no matter what.”

 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck. “Okay,” he mumbled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. “You can carry me inside, right?”

 

John huffed and shifted his arms to better support him. “Yeah, if you insist that your legs aren’t working properly.”

 

“They’re not,” Sherlock informed him distractedly, watching Greg and Mycroft head inside. Greg had a suitcase in one hand and a box in the other and he had to pause at the door to fish the keys out of his pocket. Mycroft was shifting excitedly in one spot, a small box in his hands, and he stared expectantly at the door.

 

He realised that this was a bigger moment for Mycroft than himself, even though he felt it couldn’t get bigger for him. His brother had been waiting longer than he had for something like this -- but neither would ever say that aloud. Sherlock had done his best to be good for Mycroft, understand his point of view on everything. It hadn’t been easy. He’d had horrible days where they’d go grocery shopping and he’d throw fits when Mycroft would tell him they couldn’t afford the chocolate bar he’d been promised, ignoring his explanations on why he couldn’t have it. The best part of this experience, though, Sherlock decided, was getting to see his brother like he’d never seen him before: _happy_. Yes, he’d seen Mycroft smile, sometimes even laugh. But there had always been something tired in all his movements, words, tones, expressions. Seeing his brother over the past few weeks, and especially today, there was no extra layer of being tired. He was simply happy. Sherlock decided he liked that, and if Mycroft could be happy around these people, then they were good people.

 

He snuggled into John, letting him take him inside and show him around their new house. There were still boxes against walls of each room, and Greg sheepishly explained that they were still moving in themselves. “It’s a family thing, to move, right?” Mycroft asked, looking around the family room with wide eyes.

 

“Yeah,” Greg agreed after a short pause, voice cracking slightly as he smiled. “It is.”

 

The best part of the house, in Sherlock’s opinion, was his bedroom. He had his _own_ room. He and Mycroft had had to share before. But now they each had their own upstairs. John set him on his bed and he looked around in awe. “This is mine?” he asked quietly, staring at the space. There was a bookshelf on one wall, with a small collection on the bottom few shelves. There were stars on the ceiling, and black and yellow curtains over the windows. He had a chest next to the bookshelf and he had a sneaking suspicion that there were toys in it. At the end of his bed, there was a dresser and beside his bed there was small nightstand with a generic looking lamp on it. There was even a rug on his floor by his bed. The bed itself was unmade for the moment but it had three big pillows that he had the urge to hug and snuggle into because he wasn’t quite sure how to react to the buzzing of excitement he was feeling.

 

“All yours,” John confirmed, grinning. “We can paint your walls later, whatever colour you want. And we have to go get the sheets for your beds tonight. We were a bit uncertain what you’d like so we’ll let you pick them out.”

 

In the end, Sherlock ended up back in John’s arms because he bounced happily on his mattress and threw his arms around him in a big bear hug. “Thank-you!” he squealed, wrapping his legs around John’s waist. His mum only laughed.

 

“Sherlock!” Mycroft called, running into his room. “Come see my room!” He had the biggest smile on his face that Sherlock had ever seen as he peered around. “You have books, too!” He wandered over to the bookshelf as John set Sherlock down. “Are the ones in my room mine to keep?” He stared seriously up at John, and glanced at Greg when he came to the doorway.

 

John nodded. “Yours forever,” Greg told him. “It’s just a few starter books. We can get rid of any you don’t actually have any interest in but we thought you’d like some to start your own book collection with.”

 

“Get rid of books?” Sherlock gasped, imagining throwing away the precious treasures. “No! We can’t!”

 

Mycroft wrinkled his nose at the thought as well. “I’m sure I’ll like them all…” he stated and then took his brother’s hand. “Come on, Sher. I want to show you my room!” He all but dragged Sherlock past John and Greg and across the hall to his own room. They heard John and Greg laugh but didn’t comment on it.

 

%

 

In the following week, it became apparent that it was not Mycroft who was struggling most to adjust, but Sherlock. For the most part, they were both doing quite well. But Sherlock was having a hard time sleeping at night. He wasn’t used to the house yet and he couldn’t get comfortable, feeling something akin to fear swell in his chest when the lights went out after everyone had gone to bed. He was too proud to go bother his brother, and he didn’t quite trust Greg and John enough to sneak into their room. He was glad that they let him nap during the day, though it was annoying to find himself waking up in his bed after falling asleep on the living room floor.

 

Finally, one night, though, he caved. He wanted to sleep and he wasn’t getting it through the methods he was using. So he climbed out of his bed, pulled his door open silently, and crept down the hall to his parents’ room. The light was still on and he heard soft voices on the other side so he didn’t feel _too_ bad about knocking.

 

There was a slight pause in the conversation and then Greg called, “Come in.” Sherlock turned the knob and pushed the door open enough to timidly poke his head in. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?” John was sitting up reading a rather thick novel and Greg had papers spread across his side, papers that were obviously important as he immediately started scooping them up and out of the way.

 

“I can’t sleep…” he muttered, stepping in and closing the door behind him. “Can I…?” He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted besides the comfort that his new parents were so talented at providing him. He tottered to the end of the bed and looked up hopefully.

 

John pushed the blankets aside and crawled to the end of the bed as Greg set his stack of papers on the floor on his side. “Come on up, then,” he said and helped Sherlock onto the bed. They moved back up to the front of the bed and he let Sherlock weasel his way under the blankets before pulling them up around himself. He rested one hand on Sherlock’s stomach and asked, “Now, why can’t you sleep?”

 

Sherlock squirmed a little, not sure what to do with his hands because he didn’t usually sleep on his back. He settled on resting them over John’s hand. “I don’t know…” He didn’t have to look at Greg or John to know that they didn’t like that answer; they didn’t believe in that answer. The first time he’d said it, they’d given him a disapproving look. They seemed to understand that he really did know, he just wasn’t saying it. He sighed and moved his hands to hold the edge of the blankets close to his chin. “My room isn’t right. I don’t like it. But only at night… I’m scared.”

 

Greg draped an arm over him and the weight felt nice, safe. “Scared of what?” he inquired, in a tone that sounded as if he already knew the answer.

 

“Everything,” Sherlock told him helplessly. “The shadows are mean and I can’t see the other side of the room and everything’s new and I don’t like it!”

 

John moved his hand, running it through Sherlock’s unruly curls. “Shh... “ he soothed patiently. “What can we do to make your room feel more safe, then?”

 

Sherlock was quiet a moment, thinking about that question. He found himself leaning into John’s hand, and frowned a bit. “I’m not sure… Do I have to go back to my room tonight?”

 

“No,” Greg replied and rolled over to flick his light out. John leaned back and turned his lamp off as well. They both curled up around Sherlock, creating a little pocket of safety for him. “You can stay here tonight. And, tomorrow, we’ll come up with ideas for your room, okay?” Sherlock nodded and made a soft noise of agreement as he turned and cuddled into Greg, surprised by the sudden wave of exhaustion that swept over him.

  
John kissed the crown of his head and he began to drift off. “Goodnight, Sherlock. We love you,” he whispered and something in it made the boy’s chest tighten and he smiled as he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is more or less a filler chapter. 
> 
> Originally, when I'd first come up with this idea, it hadn't quite gone like this. In fact, the beginning had been completely different with Greg and John actually meeting Sherlock and Mycroft at their local grocery store and slowly befriending them. The boys learned to trust them and eventually went to them when things got too bad, leading to their adoption. The conversation with Sherlock about him feeling like a pirate dog had originally been in the first draft, when they were still getting to know the boys. I needed it in here, though, because it's actually a really important psychological point for him and it comes back later in the story.
> 
> I was having some issues getting some of these important conversations into the story and, also, explaining why Mycroft is the way he is. If I'd kept to the first draft, it might not have been so hard but too late. 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter will help you understand the boys a bit better so we can move forward all on the same page. And it gets fun from here on out -- at least for me. XD I'm finally at the point where I can get to some of the mini-stories that I've been planning from the start and I adore them. Christmas is next so I should have plenty of time to compile a longer and more in depth chapter with lots of cute family fluff. :3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I apologise for it taking so long. Please leave thoughts behind if you feel so inclined. If not, thanks for popping in! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I should kind of lay out the house for you because I see it in my head but I don’t think you’ll quite see what I do. It’s a mix of a house I’ve visited only a few times but the plans stuck in my head and one of the houses I lived in for a few years.
> 
> When you first walk into the house, you walk straight into the living room. There’s a hall closet to the right and a few feet down that same wall are the stairs going up, right by the entrance to the kitchen. The kitchen is kind of off to the left a bit and it’s a combined kitchen/dining room. There’s no wall separating the dining from the family room, just a railing with two steps down. On the right wall, you have a bathroom and a door to the basement. On the left, there’s a sliding glass door to the backyard. The upstairs is just bedrooms and a bathroom. The master is kind of kitty-cornered at the end near the left side. The bathroom is the first door on the right and then Sherlock’s bedroom. Mycroft’s room is opposite the bathroom. 
> 
> And that’s the house!

 

“Admit it: We’re completely unprepared.”

 

It started with a trip to the store. The boys both threw mild fits of complaints at the prospect of having to go so, with a little trepidation, Greg and John left them at home with both their cell phone numbers and strict instructions to keep all doors and windows locked. It was the first time that they had left the boys by themselves since they had become part of the family just a few weeks prior. November was flying by and Christmas was rapidly approaching. Neither Greg nor John had thought much of it until that moment, standing in front of the Christmas section of the store.

 

Greg scowled slightly as he glanced around. “Well… Yeah, we really are…” They hadn’t taken much interest in Christmas since leaving home and hadn’t bothered even buying a tree for themselves when they moved in together since they always went to Greg’s parents’ for the holidays. Now they stared at all the faux Christmas trees, aisles of ornaments, displays of garlands and lights -- and grimaced. “Think of it this way, though. The most expensive thing we’ll have to buy is a tree and if we buy it once, we don’t have to put out for it again. The first year will be the worst.”

 

“Yeah, but we can’t afford it,” John huffed as they started wandering the holiday section. “I mean, a tree, the decorations for it, gifts. They _need_ things -- clothes, socks, shoes. But it would be nice to get them some toys or something, too. And we can’t do that with what we have. Not really…”

 

They were silent for a few minutes, considering a rather large tree as they mulled over their situation. “You know, my parents are going to be thrilled to have two more grandkids to spoil…” Greg said, noting John’s gawking with a laugh. “No, really. When Brian had his first kid, my parents didn’t even wait for him to turn one before they’d spoiled him rotten. We’ll give them part of the gift list. And not feel guilty about it because they thrive on it.”

 

John rolled his eyes and grudgingly agreed as they headed to the checkout, discussing whether or not they’d get a prelit tree. They were still debating when they walked through the door; both Mycroft and Sherlock looked up with raised eyebrows. “What are you talking about?” Mycroft asked suspiciously as the boys wandered into the kitchen while their parents put away the groceries.

 

“A Christmas tree,” John answered with a huff. “Your dad is lazy and thinks that we should have a _prelit_ tree. It’s going to be a hassle and I’ve said it but he’s not listening.”

 

Sherlock scrunched his nose and opened his mouth but Mycroft beat him to it, saying, “Why do we need a tree at all?” Sherlock closed his mouth slowly, frowning at his brother.

 

Greg and John paused, sharing a brief glance before they stared at the boys. They’d been a bit prepared for something like this, acknowledging that the boys had probably never had a decent Christmas in their whole lives. “What do you mean? To celebrate Christmas, of course. Silly. Speaking of,” Greg explained, putting the milk in the fridge. “We need to talk about your lists to Santa.”

 

“But Father Christmas isn’t real,” Sherlock protested loudly as Mycroft snarled, “Father Christmas doesn’t exist.”

 

It was Mycroft’s tone that alarmed them the most. They abandoned the cereal in favor of turning their full attention to the boys. “You don’t think so?”

 

Sherlock shook his head but the movement seemed hesitant. Mycroft gritted his teeth and grumbled, “No. Of course he isn’t real. If he were real…” He trailed off, glancing at Sherlock and losing some of his anger. “I’d rather talk about why I don’t believe in him...later…”

 

“Mycroft says he’s not real because he’s never come to our house,” Sherlock stated, tone dripping with disappointment. “I haven’t heard much of him; Mycroft wouldn’t let me find the books or movies from the Christmas boxes under the stairs…”

 

John twisted his lips, doing his best not to say everything he was thinking. “Well, that should change right now,” Greg decided and scooped Sherlock into his arms. “Let’s pull out the Christmas boxes and we’ll hunt down the DVDs we have… Do we still have the CDs in the case, John?”

 

“Yeah, in the back…” John reminded him and rested one hand on Mycroft’s shoulder to hold him back while Greg took Sherlock to the family room to turn on the music. “Myc… Can we talk for a minute?” Mycroft glanced up at him, eyes flashing again. John knelt down in front of him and inquired, “Will you tell me why you wouldn’t let Sherlock believe in Father Christmas?”

 

For a moment, Mycroft’s expression was completely closed and John thought for sure that he wasn’t going to get an answer. And then, rather quietly, he exploded, “Because he never came! I asked for one thing, every year and he never gave it! I just wanted my parents to be home for Christmas, or a relative or someone to come get me. _Something_ to make it better. And it never happened. I didn’t want Sherlock to go through it, too. I wished for just _one_ good Christmas for him… I woke up disappointed. So I told him that other people believed in Father Christmas, that other people made him sound real; but if the stories were true, he would have come to our house. Even if I was a horrible kid, I should have gotten coal or something. I didn’t get anything…” He let out a shaky breath and stared at John, willing him to understand.

 

John’s first reaction was to reach out and hug Mycroft, pull him close and make as many promises as necessary. Something told him, though, that this reaction would not be met well. Instead, he took a deep breath through his nose, pushed a hand gently through the boy’s hair, and said, “I understand… You didn’t want Sherlock to feel the same disappointment.”

 

“I didn’t want Sherlock to be sad,” Mycroft agreed, staring at his feet stubbornly. “I took money from my mum and dad for food and I’d never have had enough to get him any presents for Christmas. We just didn’t celebrate.”

 

“This year will be different,” John told him surely. Mycroft lifted his head to gaze at him intently. “We’ll all plan things out together and we’ll see it through. Just… Sherlock is still little. Let him believe in magic for just a little longer. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but we should let him. Okay?”

 

Mycroft, John was learning, took nothing lightly; he thought through each answer carefully before giving it. “Alright,” he finally said, nodding slowly, after considering for a minute or so. “I’d like it if he could have at least one good Christmas…”

 

John leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You’re not excluded here, Mycroft. You’ll have a good Christmas, too, if you’ll let us give it to you.”

 

He opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock stumbled up to him with bright eyes and interrupted, “Mycroft! Come on! The movie’s going to start! It’s a silly story about a _talking snowman_!” His whole face was lit up, cheeks flushed slightly with excitement, and it was the most precious thing John could have imagined. “I want you to watch it with me!” He glanced at John and added, “You, too! Bring a blanket!” He sped back down to the family room, bouncing behind Greg who was putting the DVD into the player. “Hurry!”

 

John chuckled softly as he stood. “Coming!” He rested one hand on Mycroft’s shoulder briefly, and the boy stared up at him imploringly before smiling and leading the way to the family room.

 

%

 

John was sprawled on the couch, his head in Greg’s lap, later that night. The boys were sharing a beanbag in front of the TV as they watched “Frosty the Snowman” for the second time. Apparently, they called it “the most ridiculous thing” that that they’d ever seen and found it so funny, it was their new favourite movie. John’s laptop was balanced on his stomach where he was flipping through cookie recipes. “How many people are we having over?” he asked after considering a triple-chocolate cookie recipe.

 

“For Christmas?” Greg clarified distractedly, pausing his reading over a case he’d received in an email. John made a noise of agreement and Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Er, let’s see… Yours, mine, five… Is Harry coming?”

 

John wrinkled his nose. “Nope. That’s why we’re doing this on Christmas Day.”

 

“Who are you talking about?” Sherlock inquired, turning around to peer up at them. “What are we doing on Christmas Day?”

 

John glanced over at him. “We’re talking about family. They’re coming over for Christmas to celebrate with us.”

 

“Oh,” Sherlock mumbled, forehead creasing.

 

“Your count is a total of around seventeen people, that is including all the kids,” Greg interrupted, pursing his lips unhappily. “You win the argument about needing the house for things like this.”

 

John snorted with a grin. “I _told_ you it would happen…” He hummed and clicked on a new recipe. “So what kind of cookies should I make this year?”

 

“What kind did you make last year?” Greg asked, peeking at John’s computer screen. “God, those look good… What _are_ they?”

 

“Er… Peanut butter streusel,” John answered and shook his head. “I’m not making them. They look too time consuming with having to double it. I think I might just go with sugar…”

 

Greg groaned dramatically. “But you make the best peanut butter cookies. Never mind the streusel.”

 

“Can I help make cookies?” Sherlock piped up again, getting out of the confines of the beanbag chair and wandering over to look at the computer screen.

 

“Me too!” Mycroft demanded, turning over to look at his parents. “Please.” The word was an afterthought, something neither were really used to saying yet.

 

John chuckled and showed Sherlock the screen. “I can use all the help I can get. I’ve got over twenty people to make cookies for so I’ll be in the kitchen a lot before Christmas. What do you guys think about peanut butter cookies?”

 

Sherlock shrugged uncertainly while Mycroft declared, “We’ve never made cookies before. I only bought cookies from the store once and they were stale and gross. What are your favourite cookies?”

 

John blinked slowly as he looked at each boy in turn. “Er, I guess my favourite has to be good old fashioned chocolate chip. What about you, Greg?”

 

Greg huffed and closed his laptop most of the way. “Well, I adore your peanut butter cookies but your orange-cranberry cookies are probably my favourite.”

 

“Oh, orange-cranberry. I haven’t made those in _ages_! That’s what I’ll make for Christmas. Sugar cookies and orange-cranberry cookies,” John decided with a wide smile. “Are you guys up for helping with those?”

 

Sherlock nodded so hard, he actually stumbled a bit and Mycroft cried out, “Yes! Do we get to decorate the cookies, too?”

 

John turned to his laptop, pulling up a blank document to start typing on. “Yes, of course. I’ll have to some shopping this next week for all the ingredients… And we’ll have to double all the recipes…” He hummed softly as he started tapping out his shopping list.

 

Sherlock climbed up onto John’s legs and sat down. “Who’s coming on Christmas? You said family but what family?”

 

“All my brothers are coming and their families,” Greg told him, leaning back. “So my older brother Brian, his wife, Jessica, and their kids, Matt, Lacy, Tracy, and Cameron. My other older brother, David, and his fiance, Gabriela. Then Nathaniel and his wife, Savannah, and their little boy, Adam. And my baby brother Jordan, and his girlfriend, McKayla. Then we’ll have my parents and John’s parents, too. And us.”

 

Mycroft stared at them with wide eyes. “You have four brothers? That sounds terrible…”

 

Greg let out a startled laugh. “It was definitely interesting growing up, I’ll give you that.”

 

“You have a brother, too, Mum?” Sherlock inquired, carefully maneuvering so he could peer over John’s laptop at his face.

 

“No, I have one sister,” John answered grudgingly. “Harriet is her full name, though she likes to go by Harry. She’s married to Clara and they have a little girl, Charlotte. Harry and I don’t get along much anymore so I haven’t really seen her in a couple years, not since they adopted their daughter.”

 

Sherlock made a thoughtful sound and then said, “There’s a lot of people coming…” His voice wavered slightly, making him sound timid.

 

John closed his laptop and stared up at him. “There are, that’s true…” He considered a moment and then tipped his head back to look at Greg. “I think we should invite your parents over this weekend.”

 

“This weekend?” Greg repeated in surprise.

 

“Yes, I know it’s short notice and all but…” He glanced at Mycroft to be sure. “I think they should come meet the boys, give them some familiar faces so they don’t freak out on Christmas. Sherlock’s right -- there will be a lot of people and they’ll all be people they’ve never met. It sounds overwhelming even to me…”

 

Greg let out a soft noise as he mulled that over. “I think you’re right. I’ll call them in the morning. That sound okay to you guys?” Both boys gave a timid “yes” in reply and Greg smiled. “I think you’ll like them. They’re full of energy, just like you two, and my mum will be happy to dote for awhile.”

 

“What does dote mean?” Sherlock asked, snuggling into the space that didn’t exist between John and the back of the couch.

 

“Spoil, give their undivided attention to you, that sort of thing,” Greg answered, watching him. “Are you quite comfortable?”

 

Sherlock nodded with a smug smile. John pulled open his laptop again. “It’s almost bedtime. We’ll finish the movie and then it’s time to brush teeth.” Sherlock whined a little but didn’t actually protest as he watched the TV screen. Mycroft turned around to watch as well while Greg opened his email again and John continued to type up his list.

 

%

 

Greg called his parents the next morning to invite them over, and it took both he and John to talk them out of bringing any welcome gifts because they’d need their help for Christmas. “We want to make it a good Christmas,” John explained, glancing at the stairs warily. “They’ve never had one before. But they need things like clothes and shoes, too. We can’t do all that, and buy the tree, by ourselves. We’d really like help with that instead.”

 

Of course, they readily agreed and demanded that they get to see the boys’ lists. “Well, we’re still working on that part…” Greg told them slowly, taking a sip of his coffee. “Mycroft is having a hard time accepting the belief in Santa and Sherlock is still listening to his brother about it, afraid of upsetting him. He keeps adding, ‘in pretend’ whenever he talks about Santa in front of Mycroft. So neither of them have written their lists yet. Hopefully we can get to that today but we’ll have them before you leave.”

 

John stretched out and then wrapped his hands around his cup of coffee. “We really appreciate you coming this weekend. I think it’ll really help the boys be less overwhelmed come Christmas,” he said gratefully.

 

“It’s no problem,” Marilee assured gently. “It’s the least we can do. But, why don’t you call Nathaniel and see if he and Savannah can come over with Adam? It might help them to have another child they can gravitate to, as well.”

 

Greg and John glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. “Ya know, I think that’s a great idea,” Greg agreed slowly. “Thanks for that.” They ended the call shortly after and Greg wandered downstairs to call his brother while John started on breakfast.

 

Mycroft and Sherlock were up just as John finished making the last pancake. “Good morning, boys!” he chirped brightly.

 

Sherlock grumbled incoherently as he sat down at the table. “Good morning,” Mycroft replied sleepily, sitting down across from his brother. “I smelled good food.”

 

John chuckled and set plates out. “Is that all it takes to get you two up?” he joked as he snagged the plate of pancakes. Both boys were late risers, but Sherlock was the worst -- even when he slept all night. Sherlock was never fully awake until sometime after nine-thirty in the morning and he was always grumpy until that point. “So, I think we’ll make our Christmas lists today.” He set the jam on the table and helped pour some honey over Sherlock’s two pancakes that he’d grabbed.

 

Mycroft studied his options before pulling the jar of strawberry jam toward him. “Why?”

 

“Because Santa needs your lists in advance or he’s going to be cranky about making last-minute gifts,” Greg told him as he strode into the kitchen, setting the phone back in its cradle. “And a grumpy Santa doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

 

“Can Father Christmas even _be_ grumpy?” Sherlock asked distractedly, trying to cut his pancakes. “I mean, if he was real…”

 

Mycroft sighed dramatically and narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. “You can believe in him if you want to, Sherlock. You’re still little and all.”

 

Sherlock stared up at his brother in surprise, eyes lighting up. “What about you? Are you going to believe in him?”

 

“We’ll see,” Mycroft mumbled, taking a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll play along until Christmas and then we’ll know for sure.”

 

John smiled and offered the yoghurt to Greg. “There’s just one thing I don’t get,” Sherlock said, eyebrows scrunching up. “If Father Christmas is real, why did he never visit our house?”

 

Greg frowned a little, staring at his plate. Luckily, John had thought about this and answered, “You know, his elves might have made a mistake on the map.” Mycroft and Sherlock both looked at him in confusion. “Father Christmas needs a map each year, you know, so he knows where to go. His elves have to make the map each time and there’s a chance that they could have missed your house in their haste to create it.”

 

“Every year?” Mycroft inquired skeptically. “What are those chances?”

 

John shrugged. “They might have been copying. But, don’t worry. Our house has always been on the map. _And_ I’ve already sent in a letter to tell Father Christmas that we have two new additions. Now all he needs is your wishlists.”

 

Sherlock was more awake than John had seen him at nine in the morning. He bounced a bit in his chair, setting his fork down so fast, it clanked against his plate. “Then what are we waiting for!? We need to send him our lists so we can get lots of presents on Christmas! Will he give us everything on our lists or should I put the important stuff first, just in case?”

 

Greg grinned, watching Sherlock. “We’ll think about that stuff after breakfast, okay? Finish eating and we can start writing.” He chuckled softly as the little brunet started stuffing his face.

 

“Slow down or you’ll make yourself sick,” John scolded lightly, amused. “We have the whole day ahead of us…”

 

Mycroft paused in eating and looked up at Greg and John with wide eyes. “We don’t have a tree… You were arguing yesterday about it. What’s a ‘prelit’ tree?”

 

John glanced at him in surprise. “Oh, well, it’s where the tree already comes with lights. Now, we can’t afford to get a _real_ tree so we have to decide on a fake one. Some come with lights already on them but I remember my father fighting with ours every year. I think we should get a tree that we have to string up ourselves.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s just more money to put out,” Greg huffed, stabbing his next bite with his fork. “And it sounds like more of a pain than a prelit.”

 

“Can we look at trees together?” Sherlock suggested timidly, poking his pancake.

  
“I think that’s a good idea, to be honest,” John said, smiling softly. “We’ll all decide together. Maybe we’ll go look later and get opinions. Breakfast and lists first, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few quick notes. 
> 
> I tried to see if “Santa” was universal but I found that “Father Christmas” was also used in the UK. In my American mind, this term just sounded a bit posh so I decided that I’d base who used which term on how they were raised. Greg, who grew up in a really relaxed household, uses “Santa” and John, who grew up in a rather strict household, uses “Father Christmas”. I see Mycroft using “Father Christmas”, thinking it makes him sound more grown up and that’s the term that Sherlock knows because of it. However, they’ll easily start interchanging the terms because both their parents use them.
> 
> For the record, I did a shit-ton of research on the leave that parents get from work when they adopt kids. As far as I could tell, Lestrade would get parental leave of four weeks and John would get adoption leave for 52 weeks (a year). So Greg’s leave would be from November 4 to December 2. John’s leave started on October 21, when they had their first meeting with the boys. (November 4 was when the adoption was finalised.) I assume that Greg gets the holidays off (technically) but I’ll look into that before I swear it. 
> 
> Also, I did no research into whether or not prelit trees vs not-prelit trees are actually a thing in the UK but they are in the States. And, really, it's a hassle either way, I've noticed...
> 
> Hopefully I’ll get the next chapter -- Christmas -- out before December ends. 
> 
> Thank-you so much for popping in and I hope you’re continuing to enjoy! :D Please leave thoughts if so inclined. Love you all!
> 
> EDIT: PLEASE READ (take out any spaces that hinder your being able to reach the destination): http: //hadriadenmaclint. tumblr.com/ post/148152328184/ this-is-to-all-my-faithful-followers-on-ffnet-and


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